Child of Sakuyo
by Sinspawn
Summary: When Joren is kidnapped and taken to the Yamani Islands to be used as a sacrifice in an age-old prophecy, it's up to Kel - with her own deadly, personal reasons to return to the place where she first tasted death - to rescue him...and the Fate of Tortall.
1. Prologue

The abduction was sudden, swift, and silent. There was no warning, except the little tug at his groin where instinct kicked in – too late – and whispered in his ear to listen to the abrupt hush of sweet chirpings and squirrel chatter. A rustle in the leaves said _Beware_, but he did not heed the caveat, did not even notice all the signs of another presence until it was too late.

He saw only a shadow of darkness, slinking toward him, out of the corner of his eye. His stallion reared up nervously, the whites of his eyes showing around the riotous brown irises. Something iridescent silver gleamed at the edge of his vision, dancing, teasing, like a hoary-winged fairy mocking him playfully, cruelly. An icy long-fingered hand enclosed around his neck and squeezed it, forcing the last of his precious oxygen from his lungs and permitting none to return. Metallic steel pressed against the tender flesh of his throat and he growled deep in his throat with terror and indignation. He felt the blade of knife or dagger or sword delicately pierce the soft tissue, and he felt trickles of blood ooze languidly down his throat and seep into his collar. He convulsed spasmodically – he was never one to laugh at the feel and sight of his own crimson blood – and felt darkness like creeping spirits sneak into his sight. And then, to end it all, the butt of something solid and blunt struck his head, and he wondered briefly if it would result in a concussion before he slipped into an abyss of gracious, merciful darkness.

Around the unconscious noble the wind stirred with summoned magic, shuddering through the branches of trees and causing the earth to flinch like an approaching earthquake. The magic roared forth from ancient nodes, meekly obeying the white hand that beckoned it forth. It changed the air to glittering kaleidoscopic colors, shimmering flimsily like it was bending, like it was a shattered rainbow being constructed to meet its creator's needs.

While the colors turned and twisted in silent beauty, white light and a flash of searing agony – felt even by the young squire, cataleptic though he was – engulfed the blackly cloaked figure who held him in his grasp like a sack of old wormy flour. Fire, an inferno of scorching might, flared from the blinding white to char and singe the healthy green needles of the pines and the budding emerald leaves of other trees. It left the earth around it black and smoking, sizzling and painful to the touch, obvious that it was fire that burnt bare soil.

The assassin and the squire were nowhere to be found.


	2. Joren, Kidnapped

"Your son has been kidnapped."

A long, thin, shakily fragile sigh escaped the petite blond settled in the chair amidst comfy cushions. Beside her the pale-haired man clenched his teeth and gripped the arms of his own chair tightly. Lord Wyldon of Cavall watched their elegant displays of discontent, and admired (to some extent) how utterly composed they could appear when told their preciously prized and pampered golden son has been taken captive.

"Joren's captors left a note in his rooms," Wyldon continued quietly, respectfully. "Sir Paxton of Nond discovered it upon entering."

"Can I see it?" Lady Dairane asked softly, and despite his keen hearing he had to struggle to hear her whisper-gentle voice. He had known the mistress of Stone Mountain since she was a young girl, had in fact courted her in his younger and handsomer days, and knew that regardless of her cultivated manner and façade she was shredded inside. He solemnly handed over the message, written in a harried scrawl.

_We have taken the young Stone Mountain to the Yamani Islands. Follow us if you wish, but I can guarantee he will be dead by the time you locate us. The Wave-Walker gave us a vision of death and a release from spells; it is our duty to follow it. Your son is the key to our liberation. In order to appease our fallen ancestors, his soul must be freed to walk the planes of time. His death is for the best for both Tortall and the Islands._

Her Harem

"'His death is for the best'?" Dairane murmured, appalled. "How can his demise be best?"

"They say the Wave-Walker gave them a vision," Lord Burchard muttered. "Isn't the Wave-Walker their name for our Mother?"

"It is," Wyldon said curtly. "Master Numair and their Majesties believe this is the work of madmen who hold a grudge. Do you have many enemies?"

"Of course n –"

"We do," Dairane interrupted her husband's vehement denial. She smiled bitterly at his stern glower. "All my life I have been trained to sit back and sew and take third place to a man's manor and horses. I was taught never to speak unless spoken to and to always agree with my husband. But when my son, who I love beyond all else, is in peril, I find I must finally speak my mind."

_A woman's piece of mind is nothing but trouble_, Wyldon reflected, giving her a quick frown to show what he thought of her opinion. Burchard followed suit. Dairane ignored them both.

"I am a progressive married to a conservative," she said, and Burchard's eyes bulged. The training-master grimaced. "I was never content to be domesticated –"

"Your domestication has nothing to do with Joren's kidnap!" her husband snapped. "You are wavering off subject, woman!"

"You deny having enemies when you know good and well that we have enough to suffice another generation! _Our son is in danger and all you can think about is protecting your damned pride_!"

Such a passionate outburst from so dainty and sickly a thing. Her weakness was obvious as well, for her face whitened gravely and she sat back in her chair. A muscle near Burchard's mouth twitched but he – with effort – relaxed his face and took a deep breath. Wyldon knew the signs – his eldest daughter had just gotten through with a stressful annulment with her husband. Their marriage was not to last. And from her trembling hands and ashen complexion, neither was Dairane.

"Forgive my wife," Burchard said mildly. "She is weakening in body and mind. The stress has gotten to her."

"Of course," Wyldon agreed.

"But she speaks some truth," he allowed. "I do have many enemies. My wealth and my staunch opinions do tend to give me problems."

"I understand."

"But none would go so far as this," Burchard rushed. Wyldon glanced surreptitiously at Dairane; although he thought her words out of bounds and unwanted, he got the impression she was more realistic than her pompous husband. She showed no appearance of disagreeing, but inquired instead,

"Why would they take him to the Yamani Islands?"

"It's in the note," the lord of Stone Mountain reminded. "The savages' precious 'Wave-Walker' gave them a 'vision'." He smirked. "Some vision."

"They signed it 'Her Harem'," Dairane noticed, a little more color coming to her pasty cheeks. "What does that mean?"

"I admit, I know little about the Yamani people and their habits," Wyldon said. "We are already running it by Eda Bell and Hakuin Seastone, Yamani themselves."

"What about that girl," Dairane asked curiously, "the one training amongst the pages? Did she not train in the Islands?"

"She probably won't know much about anything," Burchard interjected indifferently.

"Actually, she might," Wyldon contradicted. "In fact, Seastone and Bell might not have a clue about this Harem. If this is something recently created, they won't have a clue what this is about – they've been in Tortall for years now, long enough for their accents to have disappeared. Mindelan is fresh, only three years out of it. She _might_, just _might_ have some knowledge about what's going on. If this Harem was created during her seven years there, perhaps it was an idea. She was close enough to the Emperor's royal circle so that if this was a royal-centered thing, she might know something; if it was something kept secret from the Emperor's imperial faction, she was far enough _out_ of his favor to have gotten at least a hint of something."

"So you will question her?" Dairane asked.

"After we interrogate Seastone and Bell and if we come up blank, then, yes, we will."

"Who will help us retrieve our son?" Burchard demanded.

"Since this is a threat to a noble and a relation to a prophetic vision of some sort, the king and queen have been alerted. They will dispatch someone familiar with the Yamani language and customs and several soldiers to act as bodyguards. They will convey a message to the Emperor."

There was a knock on the door. At Wyldon's command Lindhall Reed, a mage and the pages' biology teacher, stuck his head in.

"We've come up empty with Eda and Hakuin," he informed. "They have no idea what this Harem thing is about, or even the whole vision from the Wave-Walker. I've already sent Numair to question Page Keladry, if that's all right."

"Perfect," Wyldon said. "Thank you."

-----

"Joren's been _kidnapped_?"

Master Numair Salmalin nodded somberly. "He was taken to the Yamani Islands. We are hoping you would know something about it."

A frown creased the indentions around Keladry of Mindelan's full mouth. "I will do anything to help."

"In his rooms, his knight-master found a note written by the kidnappers. It was short, but it discussed his death caused by a vision brought by the Wave-Walker and it was signed 'Her Harem'."

It was not until he mentioned Her Harem that Keladry blanched to sickly yellow and she let out a strangled gasp. It was as though that Yamani Mask of hers never existed, and Numair knew he struck a nerve. Her eyes bulged from their sockets and darted frantically from side to side, and she shook almost convulsively. Her breath was rapid and uneven, harsh and loud, coming quickly and desperately. The mage was quite shocked at this terrible display of palpable fear, distress, and panic. She obviously knew what this Harem did, and what it was about, and what this signature meant.

And because emotion very rarely was exhibited through her Mask, it meant something very dangerous indeed. Numair quickly retrieved a glass of water, grasping her hands and placing them around the cool cup. Her trembling lips spilled more than they swallowed, but she didn't seemed to notice.

"Keladry," he soothed, resting both of his hands on either sides of her face, forcing her terrified gaze on him. "I need you to tell me what this is about."

"I can't," she whispered, her eyes glossy with unshed tears.

"Why not?"

"It is forbidden to speak of the Wave-Walker's Harem," she choked. "I am not allowed."

"Why can't you speak of it?" he persisted. "Are they dangerous? What is their purpose? Keladry, I need to know. You are probably the only one in Tortall who knows about this Harem."

"I can't," she half-sobbed. "They could…they would…"

"While you are here, in Tortall, they cannot hurt you," Numair stated firmly, coldly, challenging her to degrade her safety."

"You don't understand," she shouted, slamming her balled fist onto the table. Now, even as a tear pricked the corner of her eye, her otherwise white face was splotched with frustration at his inability to comprehend. "They – they are an incredibly secretive and, and _protective_ cult."

"Cult?"

"They're fanatically religious," Keladry admitted hoarsely, looming even closer to tears as she slipped him even that miniscule piece of information. "But their faith is only for the Wave-Walker. Most of them are men. They…their sexual preferences remain with each other." Her voice was shamed.

"Keladry, how do you know so much about this Harem?"

"_Her_ Harem," she corrected absently. Her face was no longer splotchy or white, but that pasty yellow color she was before. The question was something she obviously had dreaded, for her lips trembled and real tears like crystalline raindrops dripped down her cheeks and chin. She looked downright petrified. Numair decided to skirt the issue until later.

"The note mentions a 'release from its spells'. Know anything about that?"

If Numair thought this subject would tame her wild, darting eyes he was sadly mistaken. Now her hands shook violently, and the glass slipped and shattered on the floor into a million jagged shards.

"No," she whispered shakily. "I know nothing."

"You lie," Numair said calmly. "Keladry, you are the only one that can help us. You know something that Eda Bell or Hakuin do not. Tell us –_ what is this curse?_"

Big, wretched eyes stared heartbrokenly up at him. Such shadowed, haunted eyes they were, for such a youthful, childlike face.

"The spells were set upon the Yamani Islands by some of the earliest ancestors," Keladry disclosed softly, her eyes bleak and sightless. "They converge, each winding around each other and the Islands to create an infinite curse."

"What was the reason for this curse?"

"Revenge," she confessed. "The Emperor at that present time was cruel and unjust. The Yamani saw this and gave their life to make this lasting bewitchment."

"And what is the result?"

Silence, and once more tortured eyes found their way into his. Numair met them unfalteringly, and she sighed. "There are many results. One is that the Emperor would never live past seventy, a minor side effect. Our current Emperor, may the gods rest his soul, is sixty-nine and fast approaching his seventieth birthday. Another is that no royal male, except one, chosen randomly by Sakuyo himself regardless of the order of birth, will ever reach his adolescent years. Every two years crops will fail drastically, and three months out of the next year after those any child conceived will be stillborn."

"Why would those ancestors be so harsh?" Numair asked, stunned.

"To remind the Yamani how they suffered in the past," Keladry murmured.

"Is there any way to lift the spell?"

"A descendent of Sakuyo – the god the ancestors prayed to – can deliver to us salvation."

"But Joren –"

"Yamani immigrate and emigrate," she said. "Mistress Sarrasri is half-goddess herself, isn't she? Joren is either thought to be a descendent of deity, or is. It is one of the Harem's jobs to fetch the offspring."

"How are you so knowledgeable of what they do or don't do?" Numair asked. "You seem very intimate with them."

She raised her hands in front of her face, as though to ward of evil spirits. "Please…let me be…"

"Keladry, if you refuse to tell us everything, we will have to send _you_ to the Yamani Islands as emissary. Would you be willing to forfeit your safety?"

"I can't tell you," she begged. "Not only is it forbidden, I truly do not know! I can't tell you where they hide, not by words –"

"So if you go, you'd be able to direct us?"

Another silence. He had his answer.

"Your page training is very important, but when a noble – and, in turn, the Yamani Islands – is threatened, we must take action." He stood. "I will inform the king of this information. I will send a message if you leave with us."

-----

Shadows danced wickedly on the walls with laughing snarls on their faces. Only a flickering candle gave any light to the room. By the melting candle sat Keladry, idly smoothing out a wrinkled, incredibly faded thin piece of parchment. Her eyes, reflecting the glow of the golden luminosity, scanned the words she thought never to see again. It was dated the second year she was a page, just before her birthday.

_We thank you for your aid in our recovery of the missing artifact, little maiden. Your help was greatly appreciated, as was your information about the Tortallan bastard-king. We will take him down eventually. Once the Emperor is destroyed, we can finally take our rightful places on the Throne. You will be our successor, my little maiden. Empress Keladry – it has a nice ring to it, no?_

_ Time is short, little maiden, so I must depart. Thank you again, Princess Keladry of the Wave-Walker's Harem._

_Yours forever,_

_The King of Her Harem_

-----

**Welp, hope you enjoyed this so far! And Nol…lay off the caffeine…okay?**

** D.S.**


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